


Incompatible

by Ameliorably



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Post Episode s04e23 The More I See You, Romance, potential
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9185294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameliorably/pseuds/Ameliorably
Summary: Post-Ep for The More I see You. Hawkeye's moping at the bar in the officer's club and Margaret, back from a trip to Tokyo, is finding her relationship with Frank and her lack of other options frustrating.





	1. Chapter 1

Hawkeye was sitting at the bar in the officer’s club, swilling what was left of a martini around the inside of its glass. She was gone. Fate had dumped her back into his life and he'd failed to keep her interested. Still too interested in medicine, she'd said, proposed himself into a corner she'd said. That last one was true, but only because he was so scared of her breaking his heart again. The events of the day have left him feeling so bitter that he can almost taste it. Would he have been happier if he’d put her before his residency and she’d stayed? He doubts it. He’d probably have just resented her for it, yet he can’t quite bring himself to face the truth: they would never have worked. Surely he couldn’t have ever have loved someone unsuitable for him so much, could he? How could such big blue eyes, such blonde curls, such rosy lips tell his heart such a lie? He downs what’s left of his drink and gestures for a refill.

“Sorry sir, we’re out of gin.” Igor gulps as he delivers the news, well aware of Hawkeye’s mood.

“Out? How can you be out of gin? This camp runs on gin!” He’d go back to the Swamp, but it’s much harder to be “alone” in a tent with BJ and Frank in it than it is here. BJ likes talking, and he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“I’m sorry, sir, we ordered more, but supply didn’t send it, and…”

“Yeah yeah,” Hawkeye waves his hand dismissively, “Just get me something, anything!”

“Will rye do?”

“That’s covered by “anything”, isn’t it? Just pour it in already!”

Igor pours the drink quickly and retreats to another part of the bar, finding himself wishing that the Hawkeye hadn't sat his miserable ass at the middle of it. The door to the officer’s club opens and the sound of Frank’s voice, simpering is carried inside, before Margaret strides inside, back from yet another trip to Tokyo, with Frank trotting dutifully behind her.

“Speaking of unsuitable…” Hawkeye mutters under his breath, his eyes on the blonde Major. He bets _she’d_ have understood his commitment and dedication to medicine. Though why he’s having this thought he doesn’t know. She wouldn’t have understood his anything else. She’s quite something, that Major, but what that something is he’s not sure. What he _does_ know is that he has little tolerance for her precious army protocol and she doesn’t appreciate his messing around or his sense of humour and thus, whatever something she might be doesn’t matter. He watches as the Majors make their way over to a table, Margaret is smiling and laughing at whatever’s coming out of Frank’s stupid, lip-free mouth. How that moron has managed to find another person to be happy with when he hasn’t only intensifies the feelings of bitterness. Hell, that moron had _two_ women. He briefly considers going over there to punch Frank in his stupid face but thinks better of it. Besides, he’s not completely sure Margaret wouldn’t then put a fist through his own.

 

Margaret sits at a rickety little table with Frank. “Go get us a drink will you, Frank?”

Frank leaps up and heads over to the bar, “Of course, darling, of course,” he simpers. Margaret rolls her eyes. Sometimes he's like an overeager lap dog.

As she watches him head over to the bar Margaret notices Hawkeye. His presence alone isn't unusual, but his demeanour and loneliness is. He’s hunched over the bar, quiet and alone, fixated on something behind the bar so strongly that he doesn’t even respond when Frank insults him. She sees Igor eye him warily and watches in surprise as a nurse approaches him, flirts, and is fobbed off with a dismissive wave. Margaret frowns. Something must have happened while she was away. Maybe a patient had died? She supposes she’ll ask Frank. She’s wasting her energy even caring about his problems. That man is nothing but trouble: irritating trouble. But they’ve been through a lot in the last few months, and she’s been starting to see him in a different light since Henry sent them to the front together.. First was that trip to the front, then Henry never made it home, She imagines Trapper couldn’t have left at a worse time. She shakes her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts and plasters a convincing smile on her face because here comes Frank. He starts whining before he even sits down. “Margaret, sweetie, I was hoping we could go somewhere a little more private and, y’know, get better re-aquainted with each other.”

Margaret rolls her eyes. “Not now, Frank, we’re going to have a have a nice, quiet drink.”

Frank turns the whine up to eleven, “But sugar-puff, I’ve got post op duty in an hour! Your presence alone is intoxicating.”

Margaret shrugs, “Well that’s too bad, Frank. The only thing that’s going to intoxicate me tonight is this scotch.”

Frank opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it when she gives him a dark look. He’s been wearing thin on her lately, and she’d brought him to the Officer’s Club so she could spend time with him in a place where he wouldn’t be able to do much touching. Her recent trips to Tokyo, first for R and R and then for the first of two trips to check up on patients had been useful places to look for other options, but so far all she’d found were men looking for string-free good times. Her gaze again falls upon Hawkeye. “What’s wrong with him?”

Frank follows her gaze, “Who, Pierce?”

Margaret nods.

Frank’s face lights up with glee. Well, he had a thing with one of those new nurses you ordered, y’know, the one who’s already transferred out of here, and she was _married!_ Then I heard misery guts over there talking to BJ and it turns out she and Pierce had lived together while he was in med school, and she left him! Serves him right for living with a woman in sin.” Frank breaks into maniacal laughter.

So that’s it. It's not what she was expecting.

Margaret doesn’t laugh. She is, after all, having an affair with a married man. She might not be particularly enamoured with him anymore, but if he ever transferred out of her life then she’d have nothing. No friends, no one to love her, nothing. She downs half her drink.

“Margaret, you shouldn’t drink that so quickly!”

She puts down her glass and fixes him with a dark look,“Oh buzz off, Frank!”

As if affronted, he stands up quickly and draws himself up to his full height, “Hmph, maybe I will!”, and he stomps self righteously out of the club.

Now alone she sighs loudly and downs the rest of her drink. Damn. Now she has to go and get more. She looks over again at Hawkeye in his place at the bar and wonders if his misery wants company, because hers does.

_Oh what the hell…_

She grabs her empty glass and heads to the bar before settling herself onto the stool next to his.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Hawkeye snaps to attention when he realises that someone’ sat down next to him, his eyes widen when he sees who it is, but in a split second he's on the offensive, “Come to gloat have we, Major?” He snaps at her before she can get a word out. He he regrets it the moment she flinches. Apparently he's not the only one with something going on.

“Nevermind!” She barks, getting up from her seat abruptly.

“No, wait!” He says, suddenly frantic, and reaches out to grab her wrist, suddenly desperate not to be alone again. He stops short of outright asking what she’s doing sitting herself down next to an embodiment of misery. He’s so miserable, he figures he could be the camp mascot for misery. She eyes him warily. He sees outrage there, indignance, and possibly some hurt. He’s not forgiven yet. “Sit down, I’ll buy you a drink,” he says, his voice almost cracking under the strain of forced pleasantries. 

Margaret gives a curt nod and resumes her place on the stool. He orders some drinks, and, after a murmured thanks, they sit quietly until Hawkeye can’t stand it anymore. She was the one who came over here, she should be the one doing the talking. 

“What’s wrong?” At least this way he can avoid talking about his problems some more.

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong”

“Oh sure, that’s why you look almost as happy as I do, that and you’re not out there messing up the supply tent with Frank.”

Her breath catches and she opens and closes her mouth before pursing her lips as she tries to figure out what to say. “I can do better.”

“You can do better. Better than what, the Korean war?” He figures she’s probably talking about Frank, but if she’s going to be ambiguous, he’s not going to make it easy for her.

Her face flushes, she’s clearly embarrassed. She shoots him a long-suffering look “Better than Frank; or at least I thought I could, but it turns out I can’t.”

Hawkeye’s momentarily speechless. She just voluntarily showed him vulnerability. She sought him out and showed him vulnerability. He looks around, but there’s no one else near them. She did mean to sit next to him. He makes a note to check outside later for flying pigs.

Her confusion at him looking around is evident.

“What do you mean you can’t do better than Frank?” He almost shouts, incredulous and, by now, a little drunk.

“Will you keep it down!”

“What, don’t want to be seen with me?”

She was starting to wonder if this was more trouble than it was worth. “No, I’d just rather the whole camp  _ didn’t know my business!” _

“As you wish, Major dear.”

Margaret narrows her eyes. One day she was going to kill him, and when she did she was going to make sure he was shipped stateside saluting inside his coffin. She sighs before continuing. “I always figured it would be easy to find someone better than Frank if only I had somewhere else to look. But all the men in Tokyo seem to want is a warm, willing body for the night.” She fiddles with her glass, determinedly concentrating on the condensation forming on the outside of it. She’s well outside her comfort zone now. 

Hawkeye takes in her fidgeting form and softens his voice, “Just because you can’t find someone in Tokyo, doesn’t mean you can’t do better, no, don’t  _ deserve _ better than Frank. Besides, you could always leave old Ferret Face beside the wayside  _ before  _ you find someone else.”

“But then I’d be completely alone.”

“Alone? You know you live with a whole bunch of other people? You might have seen some of them at breakfast.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t exactly have many friends,” she snorts, “Or  _ any _ friends at all.”

“What about the nurses?”

Margaret scoffs, “They all hate my guts. That’s the thanks I get for being professional.”

There’s a pause while Margaret studies a spot on the bar and Hawkeye downs more of his drink, “Okay, well, what about me?”

Margaret’s scoffs, “What  _ about _ you?”

“You’ve always got me, I’ll look out for you.” He’s surprised to hear himself say these words, they’ve never shared anything more than fleeting respect borne out of necessity, but he finds that he means it.

“I...thank you.” She says softly, looking down at her hands, feeling exposed.

Hawkeye waves his hand dismissively,“Plus there’s always BJ, he seems like a nice enough guy. Waiter!” he calls, before Margaret can respond, the lady needs another drink!” Igor scurries over, scotch bottle in hand and leaves before he has to talk to either of them.

“So…” Margaret prods, starting to feel warmth from the whiskey wash over her. 

“So?”

“How about you?”

“What about me?” He’s being evasive, he knows what she means. Now it’s time to start poking around in his wounds.

“What’s got you so miserable?”

It’s his turn to play with the condensation on his glass, too. “I used to live with this girl. I liked her - no, like isn’t strong enough - I loved her. Her name was Carlye, I guess it still is, and we were in love. She was beautiful, smart, funny - She was training to be a nurse, and she was good at it. She resented my career and that I spent all my time on my residency and not with her. She told me that she couldn’t compete with my first love, medicine. I got home from work one morning and she was gone. I mean what was I supposed to do, drop out of college? If I’d put her before medicine I’d have ended up hating her. But now I get to live with a broken heart. After she left I knuckled down, got my diploma, then got drafted. Here I was, minding my own business in this cess pool when lo and behold, a jeep arrives, and there she was, standing a in the middle of the compound. Only this time she’s Carlye Wolton and not Carlye Breslin, because she’s gone and got herself married to some boring idiot named Doug who works in advertising. Turns out she doesn’t even like him and wants a divorce! I managed to convince her to have an affair with me, but that was over pretty quickly when she went and got herself a transfer without telling me. She’d planned to sneak off without saying anything! I was desperate and proposed to her, but she told me that I didn't mean it, that I was still trying to convince myself that it was a good idea - funny thing is I don’t think she was wrong - and now she's gone, and I'm still here, and it hurts all over again.”

They’re both silent for a moment.

“I'm sorry.” Margaret says quietly. There doesn't seem to be anything else to say.

“Here's to us!” Hawkeye says abruptly, holding up his glass in a toast. “May those who have screwed us, get screwed.”

Margaret silently raises her glass, the mood sombre. “Well, I should probably head off to bed.”

“Need any company?” Hawkeye leers halfheartedly.

“No thank you.” She says, giving him a small smile.

“Y’know, Major, you’re still my favourite officer in the US Army.” He says, leaning over and kissing her softly on the cheek.

Margaret blushes furiously, “Goodnight, Captain.”

“Sweet dreams, Margaret.”

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

When he gets back to the Swamp he finds BJ sitting on his cot, writing yet another letter to Peg.  _ Is he trying to make me feel bad? Mr Moral Pillar of Mill Valley... _ If he wasn’t such a nice guy, Hawkeye might be tempted to resort to violence. For such a pacifist, he was finding that lately this war was making his fists pretty damn itchy. 

Hearing his friend return, Bj looks up from he’s working on, “You seem a little better.”

“Yeah, well, I did a lot of drinking, and, uh, had a chat with Margaret.”

“Margaret?” BJ’s surprised. He knew she had some good points, but she was the last person he’d expected Hawkeye to find comfort in. “How did that happen?”

“Well for starters, she sat down within speaking distance.”

“And?” Bj prods, “What did she say?”

“We talked about how she’s unhappy with Ferret Face, how she’s afraid of leaving him unless she finds someone else because she doesn’t have any friends.”

This is even further removed from what BJ had been expecting, but he’s curious. There’s clearly a level of trust between these two that he hadn’t been aware of. “And? What did you tell her?”

Hawkeye waves his hand, “That she doesn’t need him, I mean, who does? And I told her that there was always us.”

“You volunteered us to be her new boyfriends? That’s kind of you, but I’m already spoken for.”

“No, not like  _ that _ , I told her we’d be happy to be friends with her if she wanted to.”

“I never knew you even liked her.”

“Oh Margaret’s alright. She’s better away from Frank.”

“And how about your own heartache?”

“Water under the bridge, I feel fine!”

“Hawkeye…”

“Okay, I’m not fine, but I’m better. We would never have worked, It just took me a long time to realise it.”

“How about you and Margaret?”

“Ohhh no, I’m not going there. If I didn’t have a chance with Carlye, being with Mags would be like suicide.”

“Mags?”

“I came up with it just the, d’you like it?”

“I can’t imagine she will.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Are you sure you guys can be friends, or is this some plot to piss her off by having it blow up in her face?”

“Like I said, I like her, I just don’t like her when she’s a regular army clown.”

BJ blinks at his friend’s non-answer. “You never said you liked her, you said she was alright, that’s different.”

“Well whatever.” Says Hawkeye, getting into his pyjamas. “G’night Beej.”

“G’night Hawk.” Bj’s not entirely sure what just happened.

 

 

It’s a week later when Frank comes into The Swamp, wide eyed and silent and sits on his bunk.

“Rough day, Frank?” Hawkeye enquires.

“I can’t believe it…” He says, quietly, staring off into the distance

“Believe what?”

“How could she?” still quietly

“How could who, what?”

“How could she do this to me!” his voice is starting to rise

“I’ll say it again, Frank: How could who, what?”

“Margaret, she dumped me! She’s gone and dumped me!”

Hawkeye and BJ share a knowing look, and Hawkeye has to fight the huge grin threatening to spill across his face. He apparently does a poor job.

“It’s not funny!” Frank’s voice is gaining an edge of hysteria, his hold on his pillow tightening.

“I, uh, have to go see a man about a horse.” and Hawkeye quickly excuses himself just as Frank starts tearing his pillow to shreds and, after a quick pause for thought, heads for the head nurse’s tent. He raps on her door.

“I thought I told you to buzz off, Frank!” her irate voice shrieks from inside.

“It’s only me, Major.”

The door opens and he’s pulled inside in a flash “Get in here before somebody sees you! What do you want!” She demands, sparks of rage in her eyes.

“I thought maybe you could use a drink. Care to join me in the Officer’s club?”

She softens slightly, “Meet you there in 5 minutes.”

Hawkeye smiles widely and then heads back to the Swamp. “Hey Beej?”

“Hmmm?”

“Let’s go grab a drink and let Frank here mope in peace.” Frank’s lying motionless on his bunk, covered in feathers.

BJ’s out the door before Hawkeye’s finished his sentence. Anything to get away from Frank’s moaning. 

They arrive at the club at the same time as Margaret. “Evening, Major.” Hawkeye greets as he opens the door for her in a flourish.

“Hiya, Margaret.”

“Good evening,” she beams at the men.

“Shall we?”

The enter the club and head for the bar.

 

 

The Colonel is at a table enjoying a quiet drink when the trio stroll in. Margaret walks in first, smiling widely at someone behind her. When the someone turns out to be someones, and those someones turn out to be Pierce and Hunnicutt he chokes on his drink.  _ What in the...? Well that’s something you don’t see every day.  _ He supposes he should find out just what’s going on because Burns doesn’t need any help pushing what’s left of his cheese off of his cracker. He watches as they sit down at the bar with Pierce in the middle of his companions and angled towards the Major, while BJ attempts to get a word in over his shoulder. Margaret looks as amused by their antics. He’s pleased to see her enjoying herself, lord knows she could do with letting her hair down every now and then, but the Colonel can’t help but wonder if someone should go and see where Burns is. He doesn’t have to hold that thought for long, though, as it’s not long before before Burns comes charging into the club like a wounded bull, his eyes bulging as he spots the blonde Major and her two companions.

“Margaret, how could you! It’s not enough that the top brass can’t keep their hands off you or that you left me, but you left me for  _ Pierce!?” _

The Colonel’s eyebrows shoot sky high at this accusation. There are certain tensions between the Major and the Captain, and whether those tensions are sexual or not has been the topic of quiet debate more than once, but he’d eat his hat if that was what was going on here.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Margaret yells, and Pierce draws himself up straighter, “I left you because you’re a snivelling jerkface who’s too spineless to leave his wife, and I deserve better than you, Major Burns!”

The whole club bursts into a round of applause and Frank starts to turn red, then purple. The whole situation fast spiralling out of control, “Oh  _ yeah?  _ Well at least I’m not the town bicycle for the whole of Korea!”

Before anyone can say or do anything Margaret has leapt from her stool and punched him in the face.

The Colonel stands and clears his throat. He turns and looks for his clerk who appears right behind him. 

“Yes sir.” 

“Radar! Call the MP’s and have them hold onto Major Burns for me. I imagine he’s going to be a problem when he comes to.” He then turns his steely gaze to the three silent officers at the bar, “You three, my office, now!”


	4. Chapter 4

Once he has them all seated in his office the Colonel realises that he didn’t really need to call the two Captains into his office. They are in trouble far more often than the Major, but in this case he mostly wanted to spare the Major the extra embarrassment of being called to his office _alone_ in front of everyone. The Captains are looking at each other and the Major stares steely eyed into the distance. He wonders whether he should dismiss the men before talking to Margaret but decides against it. Perhaps they can fill in some of the blanks.

“So, care to tell me what that was about, Major?”

“He...I...Sir…” her jaw works itself as she tries to make the words come out. To the Colonel’s surprise Hawkeye jumps in before she can say any more in an attempt to spare her. It doesn’t escape the Colonel’s notice. “Frank came back to the Swamp all loony bird and muttering about having been dumped by someone. He then proceeded to get a bit worked up and murdered some pillows. He was lying face down on his bunk when we left him. The next time we saw him he was throwing accusations around in the Officer’s Club.”

“Does that fit with your version of events, Major?”

“Yes sir.”

“That will be all I need from you, Pierce and Hunnicutt. You boys can go now. Major, I’d like to speak to you alone for a moment.” He waits until the two Captains leave before continuing. Margaret looks down at her fidgeting hands.

“Are you alright, Margaret.”

“Yes sir, I’m fine.” She says, slightly unconvincingly.

“Well if you ever need to talk to about anything, I’d be more than happy to lend an ear.” He pauses before adding, “I’m sure Captain Pierce would too.”

She looks up sharply at this.

He badly wants to ask her why she’s chosen now to give Burns the boot. She knows she’s been close to it before but has always gone back. He holds his tongue. It’s not his place, she’ll tell him if she wants to. He thinks it’s likely that it’s got something to do with a certain pair of Captains, or even one very specific Captain. He’s not certain how Hawkeye is involved in all of this, only that he is. Camp scuttlebut says they’d been seen drinking together when no one else had had the brass balls to approach Hawkeye. They create an unlikely pair.

Margaret eyes the Colonel, “Is that all, sir?”

He scrutinises her for a moment longer, “yes Major, dismissed.” As she stands to leave he calls to her again “Oh, and Margaret?”

“Yes sir?”

“Look after yourself, won't you.”

She gives him a small smile, “Yes sir.”

He doesn’t reprimand her for punching Burns. Aside from the fact that the guy deserved it, she doesn’t need to be told.

* * *

 

When they arrive back at The Swamp BJ and Hawkeye help themselves to the fruits of the still, their Officer’s club stint  having been interrupted by Frank while it was still young.

Hawkeye sits down and sighs, “Aaaaaah, this truly is the lifeblood of this camp.”

“It’s certainly something.”

“Y’know, it’s a pity Frank didn’t punch Margaret. I’d have loved for him to be carted off somewhere.”

“Instead we get to have him as our roommate for a while longer.”

“Maybe he won’t come back, Maybe Potter will set him up a tent of his own, we can cite irreconcilable differences.”

“That’s Margaret’s defence”

“Maybe we can get him his own tent and set it up right near the mine field.

“Now that would be fun.”

“I wonder if Margaret’s back from The Colonel’s office. I should go and make sure she’s okay.”

BJ fixes his friend with an appraising look, “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you and her?”

“Jeez, I swear, we’re barely even friends! Why do you keep asking that?”

“Oh I don’t know, might happen to do with your sudden interest. That and the fact that she dumped Frank when you told her to.”

“She did not!” It sounds lame even to his ears, but it’s the best he’s got, “And I am not interested in her!”

“Really? Seems to me you’re plenty interested, else you wouldn’t have the urge to check on her.”

“Okay, fine, maybe I’m a bit interested! Happy?”

“I think you’re more than interested. I think you like her.”

“God, what are you, _twelve_?”

“I think you liiiiiiiike her.” BJ singsongs.

“I certainly like her a whole lot more than I like you right now.”

“He liiiiikes her.” BJ sings, quieter this time, and twice as smug.

Wordlessly, Hawkeye excuses himself from The Swamp.

“Say hi to Margaret for me!” BJ calls after him, his grin visible through the mesh sides of their tent.

“Self-satisfied moron,” Hawkeye mutters to himself as he begins the short walk across the compound to her tent. He knows she’ll probably just tell him to get lost, yet he feels compelled to go over there anyway. _Ah shit._ There’s a distinct possibility that BJ’s not wrong.

“Brace yourself, heart, you’re heading for a likely collision, prospects of survival unknown.” he says to himself in his best radio announcer voice, using his martini glass as a microphone. He reaches out a hand and raps on her door. For a moment there’s no response, but then he sees the blind twitch. “It’s only me, Margaret.”

She looks confused, “what are you doing here?”

“Just came to make sure you were okay. Would you like a drink?” he asks, holding out his half drunk martini. He’s surprised when she takes it from him and has a swig, but not surprised that she winces, “Ugh, this stuff is truly awful.”

“The essence of life itself.”

She the look she always does whenever she thinks he’s done or said something stupid, but she doesn’t give his glass back. “Why are you here?”

“Just thought I’d swing by and make sure you were okay, maybe help you evict Frank if he was hiding under your bed.

“I’m fine, thank you, Captain”

There’s an awkward pause.

“Well, uh, goodnight, Major” He says, and leaves abruptly, but not before leaning in and kissing her on the cheek.

As her door clatters shut she sinks down slowly to sit on the edge of her bed, still holding his glass. _What on earth was that?_ She brings her hand to where his lips had been moments before. It’s not the first time he’s kissed her cheek, _he’s kissed more than your cheek,_ but tonight it had stunned her. It made little sense to her, but she was starting to suspect that there might be more to her relationship with Pierce than she realised.


	5. Chapter 5

In the coming days everyone tries to ignore Frank and his sour puss moaning around camp. He only talks to himself, though, because he knows nobody else cares. He’s long been aware of the fact that everybody hates him, even _Margaret_.

“Oh Margaret,” he sighs to himself, earning titters from those around him. He snaps and stands abruptly, yelling “Oh you just love to see a man suffer!” This causes the rolling of eyes all over the mess tent. “Only you, Frank!” Hawkeye calls from the tent’s entrance, having just walked in with BJ and Margaret. A vein in Frank’s forehead starts to pulse visibly. He watches his beloved Margaret look at Pierce and smile and slams his half empty tray down onto the table, food slopping everywhere. A lump of something hits him above the eye and sticks to his face sending and Hawkeye and BJ into peals of hysterical laughter.

None of them had noticed the Colonel enter the tent, “Can it, Pierce.” He was hoping his chief surgeon would know better than to give Burns a hard time at the moment, but apparently not.

“Colonel!” screeches Frank, “Pierce said...”

“Cool it, Burns. How about you spend some time in your tent and calm down.” The Colonel sighs inwardly. It was beginning to feel like he was running a high school, or khaki, tented college dormitory. He’d already had to move Major Burns into the VIP tent to stop his and Hawkeye’s constant sniping.

“Care for some breakfast, Major?” Hawkeye says, holding out his arm for Margaret

“Yes, let’s.” she says, ignoring his arm and pushing past him.

“Hey Hawk, what about me?” BJ teases, grinning at his friend.

Hawkeye pretends to be scandalised, “Why Mr Hunnicutt, you said you were spoken for!”

The Colonel waits until Burns has stormed out before turning to Hawkeye, “Leave the man alone, Pierce, you know he’s got a few screws loose.”

“Screws? You can practically hear the bolts rattling around in there whenever he walks.”

“Well then you can see my point, can’t you”

“Sorry, Colonel, won’t happen again”

“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t believe him. He makes a mental note to have Radar call Sidney. It’s not a case of _if_ Burns flips his nut, but when.

 

* * *

 

After breakfast the casualties start to roll in. Darkness has fallen by the time they stop coming.

Colonel Potter’s voice rings out across the OR,“How many more are there?”

“That’s it, sir!” Klinger yells back.

“What time is it?” Hawkeye murmurs to Margaret, who’s working at his table.

“About 20:00 hours”

“Feels like it’s a lot later. Why Can’t the military just tell the time like normal people?”

“Shut up, Pierce,” snaps Margaret wearily. She’s in no mood for answering that question. Again. She’s not really in the mood for talking to him full stop. What their relationship may or may not be turning into is weighing on her mind. They continue working until their patient is done.

“Waiter, take this one away!”

Klinger bows, “Certainly sir,” and he and an orderly take the patient to post-op.

“Hey Major, wanna grab a drink after?” Hawkeye says, wiggling his eyebrows at her for comic effect.

Margaret is growing increasingly unsure about how to respond to his come-ons. They’re different now, more serious, less outrageous. She doesn’t know how to feel about their relationship anymore What does he want from her? He's offered her friendship, sure, but it feels bigger, more significant that that. What does he want from her? Hell, what does she want him to want from her?

“Earth to Margaret…”

“Sure, fine,” she says airily before her brain kicks in.

Hawkeye notes her mood but says nothing.

Frank is none too impressed with their exchange, “You should be ashamed of yourself, Major, letting him flirt with you in the Operating Room!”

Margaret just rolls her eyes, but Hawkeye isn’t about to let that one go, “Jealous, Frank?”

Potter makes a sound of disapproval, “Can it, gentlemen, it’s beginning to feel like a schoolyard in here, and I ain’t a school principal!”

Margaret blushes and hurries from the OR with Hawkeye hot on her tail.

The Colonel sighs, “What is it with those two!” He's got a pretty good idea of what's with them, and it's as irritating as it is fascinating.

“They’re unprofessional, that’s what’s wrong with them!”

“It was rhetorical, Burns!”

* * *

 

As she flings her bloodied scrubs violently into the scrub room hamper, Margaret finds herself wishing she hadn’t agreed to have drinks with Hawkeye. What she really wants to do is go back to her tent and brood, not spend time with the man responsible for tying her head into knots.

“What’s eating you, Margaret?”

“Nothing.” _Nothing but you,_ she mentally adds _._

“Your mouth says Nothing but your eyes say that you’re an angry Major.”

 _That does it,_ “You know what? I’m gonna the skip drinks tonight, I have a headache. I’m going back to my tent,” she leaves before he can reply, all but running in an attempt to get back to her tent before he can catch her.

He follows her using long strides, his longer legs allowing him to catch up with her quickly. “Oh no you don’t,” he says as he steps in front of her, blocking her path

“Get out of my way!”

“Not until you tell me what your problem is!”

“I don’t have a problem, so you’d better move, Captain!” She barely stops short of yelling “that's an order!”

He grabs her arm as she attempts to push past him, and she whirls around to face him, anger burning in her eyes, “Get Your hands off of me!”

They lock eyes. There’s a dark storm brewing in his, and hers turn pleading, “What do you want from me?” she’s a little frantic now, she can feel her control slipping.

He doesn’t have a good answer and he knows it, but it doesn’t stop him, “To find out what’s bothering you, to be your friend!”

“Really?” she says, incredulous, “Because it certainly feels like more than that!” Taking advantage of his stunned state she retreats into her tent, the door slamming behind her. She doesn’t lock it, almost as a challenge to him to _dare_ to come after her again.

“Ugh!” she exclaims, throwing herself onto her cot, “Just who the hell does he think he is?” She reaches over and fumbles around in her foot locker, looking for her bottle of scotch. If ever there was a time to drown her sorrows, her confusion, and whatever the hell else it was that needed drowning, that time was now. She tries to put her finger on what it is exactly that irks her about her relationship with Hawkeye. Uncertainty, she hates uncertainty. She loves order, control, cut and dried, black and white, easy boundaries. Hawkeye is none of these things. Her relationship with him is even less of these things. Things between them have always been ambiguous, but they were covered in such a thick layer of mutual irritation that it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t even matter if he wanted more from her and she remained indifferent to him. It’s not uncommon for men to want more from her. _It matters because you’re afraid that you want more from him, and you don’t know where it leaves you._ Margaret groans out loud at her internal voice.

It leaves her in a slightly precarious position.

She’s supposed to choose a man with good qualifications, with an excellent reputation, with a good military standing. A man that would make daddy proud. She’s certainly _not_ supposed to be seriously considering her feelings for an unmilitary, undisciplined draftee doctor.

Somehow she doesn’t think her father will care one iota about Hawkeye’s surgical qualifications.

Why does she feel drawn to this man, why should she let herself follow her heart? She’s supposed to be rational. _Because ignoring your feelings and desires has always worked out so well for you, Maggie._ This is all without even thinking about the fact that mere weeks ago he was pining after Carlye. She really needs that drink.


	6. Chapter 6

When Hawkeye slams his way back into the the Swamp BJ is just sitting down on his bunk, “That good, huh?”

“Oh, it’s better than good. I need a drink.”

“So she yelled at you?”

Hawkeye shoots him a dark look as he pours himself a martini.

“Okay, the whole camp heard most of it... and they saw what they couldn’t hear.”

“Oh, great. All I did was invite her for a drink.”

“And?”

“And, you scrounger, she got all snappy, saying she had a headache, and then proceeded to yell at me, demanding to know what I wanted from her.”

“Sounds like a fair question if you ask me.”

“Oh, so you’re on her side of this, are you?”

“It’s not about sides. I just think if I was her I’d want to know where you thought things were headed. I mean, it was only about two weeks ago that you were upset about Carlye.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Me and my woman trouble. Women trouble.”

“What can I say, you’re a walking “women trouble.”

“Oh ha ha,”Hawkeye groans, flopping down onto his bunk, “What am I gonna do, Beej?”

“Well that depends”

“On what, whether the sky is falling?”

“On what you want actually want to happen.”

“How am I supposed to know what I want! Carlye leaves and suddenly Margaret is one of the most amazing women I’ve ever seen!”

“Maybe you already felt that way about Margaret, and Carlye helped you see the good things about her?”

“Oh she’d love that, “Dear Margaret, I’ve always liked your ass, but it took my last serious girlfriend dropping by to realise that I could possibly love you”” 

BJ’s eyes widen. He never imagined that Hawkeye would drop the L word so casually, and never about Margaret, “So what are you going to do?”

Hawkeye makes a sound that roughly translates to “I don’t know,” his body language indicating that the subject was now closed.

* * *

Margaret’s on her third glass of scotch, her world and, more importantly, her feelings, starting to fuzz and blur deliciously  _ farewell for now, matters of the heart.  _ But though they blur, they never disappear entirely. She’s impressed with the fact that she’s managed stop herself from going out to find Hawkeye to seeing if he’ll give her mouth to mouth resuscitation.  _ You’re disgusting, Margaret Houlihan. You’re not supposed to actually want to do things with that filthy degenerate.  _ Oh, but she does want to. Each kiss he’s stolen from her is burned indelibly into her senses, but that wasn’t a problem until he’d started slipping off her “absolutely not” list. Just recently he'd become what could either the best or worst idea ever, and it bothered her that she couldn’t decide which he was. There was something about him and the way they were that told her that he'd be capable of wielding the power to shatter her heart more than anyone had before. He was dangerous, him and his defence thwarting ways. What was it that Carlyle didn't like about him again? Oh yeah. Dedication to his work. She thinks she'd be okay with that. After all, what’s the point in becoming a doctor if you’re not dedicated? How can she be okay with that? She should be okay with nothing about him. Margaret studies her glass, which has seemingly magically emptied itself while she’s been thinking.  _ Oh hell, one more won’t hurt. _

* * *

Frank Burns was a man of principle, and he wasn’t about to sit around while this camp was overrun by  _ Communists.  _ He’d long suspected Pierce was one, and that left-winged, hippy thinking, Californian. He’d probably been raised a communist; after all, you’d have to be pretty whacko to name your kid “BJ”. Now, though, now even Margaret had fallen to the communists! Frank gasps as a new thought pops into his head:  Maybe she’d been one the entire time, maybe she’s been working as a sleeper agent! Perhaps the communists had even infiltrated the highest ranks of the army. He narrows his eyes. He wouldn’t even put it past Colonel Potter to be one.  It was time that he, Major Frank Delano Marion Burns to take matters into his own hands. Frank checks that his gun is still under his pillow. He’d gone and got it from its hiding place in the Swamp when those two morons were busy with handing over a shift in post-op. His mother and wife would be proud. He’d be in Stars and Stripes, he’d be decorated for his efforts. His daughters would be able to tell the other kids at school that daddy was strong, brave, and powerful. Frank giggles with glee at his own hypothetical impressiveness. He smears camouflage paint onto his face and puts on his helmet. Time to go commie hunting, and he was going to start with the most devious one of all: Major Margaret Houlihan.

He pops his head out the door of his tent and looks left and right. The coast is clear. He runs quickly down the row of tents from the VIP tent to Margaret’s, congratulating himself on not being seen. He almost giggles but manages to stop himself, “Colonel Flagg eat your heart out,” he whispers into the darkness, grinning like a loon. “I’ll get you, Miss Snake in the Grass.” He draws himself up to his full height and raps on her door.

“Whaddyou want!”

“It’s me, Margaret, open up!”

“Buzz off, Frank!”

“I demand you open up right this minute!”

“Oh go salute yourself!”

“I have a gun, Margaret, and if you don’t open up right now, I’ll shoot right through your door!”

There's silence for a moment as her mind computes her options through its drunken haze. She opens the door and peers out at him. “What do you want, Frank?”

“Margaret, you’ve been drinking! You’re even starting to behave like Pierce, and he’s the biggest commie of them all!”

Her mind is spinning, trying to keep up, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re a communist, you’re all communists, every last one of you. I’m rounding you all up to send to headquarters.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You’ll walk missy, or I’ll shoot!”

She glares at him and stumbles out of her tent. He pushes her in front of him, “Now walk over to the Swamp, where those other two filthy commies live. You guys are worse than the yellow hoard.”

Even in her inebriated state Margaret knows that it’s better to keep her mouth shut. Frank marches her over to the Swamp, “Knock on the door, comrade.”

She does so, and Hawkeye answers, “Margaret? Oh and Frank, how nice of you to stop by. Beej and I were just discussing how much we haven’t missed you...”

“Hehasagun,” Margaret blurts out, her eyes belying her fear. Frank’s mostly harmless enough, but it seems that he might finally have cracked.

“He what?” she didn’t just say what he thinks she said, did she?

“He has,” she repeats slowly,”a gun.”

Hawkeye’s eyes go dark, “So Frank, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I want you two to get outside, now, you’re communists, the lot of you!”

“Uh, Frank...”

“It is not up for negotiation. Do as I say, or I’ll put a bullet through all of you!”

Hawkeye and BJ quickly scuttle out the door.  
“Oh great”, Hawkeye says turning to BJ, “Now what do we do?

  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Frank’s getting impatient and, if possible, even twitchier. A murmuring crowd is gathering, and if he doesn’t get out of here quickly someone might stop him, “March it, you three! We need to make it to headquarters by tomorrow.”

Hawkeye turns to look at him, incredulous, “On foot? You could at least steal us a jeep, Frank.”

“Quiet, you wiseapple,” Frank cocks his gun, “Move it!”

Hawkeye takes a quick look at his fellow hostages. Margaret’s apparently quite drunk and also determinedly not looking at him or anybody, and BJ is staring at Frank with annoyed perplexion. The idiot has finally cracked it. Hawkeye really doesn’t like the way Frank is waving his gun around, he makes eye contact with BJ and silent understanding passes between them, “Hey Frank, have you got the safety on on that thing?”

“Of course I have, what do you think I am?”

“Well…”

Margaret elbows Hawkeye in the ribs. Now was the worst time for winding up Frank.

Hawkeye’s pleased that he can still get  _ some  _ reaction out of her.

Frank’s already limited patience is wearing thin, “MOVE IT!” he all but screams.

Margaret looks at the men and shrugs, before starting to walk towards the outskirts of camp. BJ and Hawkeye look at each other again before BJ runs in front of her to take the lead and Hawkeye slips in behind her. As he does he notices a terrified looking Radar run past. They might make it out of this one after all.

Margaret’s unimpressed with the men taking over, “Hey!”, she doesn’t need a man to lead her.

BJ turns to her, “Just don’t want you tripping over in the dark Margaret, you’ve had a bit to drink.

She grumbles something inaudible but doesn’t make a move to lead again,  _ How dare he, how dare they!  _ All she’d wanted was a nice, quiet, inebriated night in her tent. She hasn’t realised that the reason Hawkeye’s moved in behind her is so that there’s someone between herself and Frank and his gun. She’s too busy concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, because she doesn’t want to even consider what Frank in this state is capable of.

* * *

 

“Colonel Potter?” Radar shakes him awake, “Sir, sir, you’ve gotta come quick. Sir!” Radar hates waking the Colonel up, but in this case he’s got no choice. One of the nurses had come running into his office after she’d heard Major Burns have words with Major Houlihan,  and she’d said that he’d had a gun. Then on the way over here he’d seen Major Burns waving it at the Captains and making them come outside of their tent.

“Radar, what in Sam Hill is the matter?”

“Major Burns has a gun, sir, he’s holding Major Houlihan and Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt hostage, sir, something about them being communists.”

Colonel Potter sits up and curses, “That Burns! Call the MP’s, quick,” he sighs, “Why couldn’t that moron wait one more day to chuck a psycho, Sidney will be here in the morning!”

“Uh, yes sir, right away, sir!” Radar says, already rushing for the door on the way to the phone.

By the time the Colonel arrives on the scene,  he sees Frank trying to make Hawkeye, BJ and Margaret march out of camp, “Where the hell is he taking them?”

Frank’s apparently getting snippy at Hawkeye who keeps placing himself between him and Margaret even when tries to get him to swap places with her, “Get out of my way, Pierce!”

“Oh no, there’s no way you get to point the gun at everybody’s favourite Major,” Hawkeye stops having noticed the arrival of the Colonel. Margaret looks wide eyed.

“Hold it right there, Burns!”

Frank gasps, “Colonel Potter, I knew it, you’re one of them too! This whole camp is infested. Filthy, rotten communists!

The Colonel watches Frank waving his gun around in the air, the fool is seemingly unaware that it’s even in his hand, “I sure hope that safety’s on!”

But Frank isn’t listening. Hawkeye’s watching too, he’s waving the gun around more than ever. Frank’s about as good with safety as he is with surgery. He continues watching Frank’s hand and then adjusts his position between Frank and Margaret  to make sure he’s covered her completely.

“Dammit, where are those MP’s!”

“MP’s? you’ll need a lot more than MP’s to stop me, old man.”

“Now watch who you’re calling old…”

At that moment two MP’s and Klinger with his guard rifle come running into view and Frank starts yelling, “No, don’t come any closer, they’re mine, mine, do you hear me!”

Frank’s gun goes off as he gesticulates. Some of the nurses scream, but Margaret can be heard above all of them. For a moment it’s not clear whether she’s going to leap over Hawkeye and strangle Frank, but she stays put. She’d probably try and kill him.

 

His arm is on fire. That idiot actually managed to shoot him. Hawkeye can’t decide whether the fact that it was an accident makes it better or worse. He looks over at Margaret who has impressively managed to find some clarity in her haze. She’s task oriented, jaw set firmly. Determinedly not looking at him. She takes BJ’s shirt from him and presses it firmly into his wound. He screams as white spots cloud his vision. Her face is still hard but he sees her eyes glistening. He wants to reach out to her, touch her face. Now is probably as good a time as any, she’s unlikely hit him if he’s already wounded. Wincing, he slowly lifts his good arm and gently brushes her cheek. She freezes on contact. The only acknowledgement is the involuntary trembling of her lips. She ducks her head quickly before anyone can see her shed a tear, all the while keeping the pressure on his wound. They’re as complicated as they’ve ever been.

 

The Colonel’s struggling to keep his anger in check, “Burns, you imbecile!” He’s about to say more but the MPs take advantage of the commotion and pull a stupefied Frank away and put him in handcuffs. The man’s only lucky they don’t have a straight jacket handy. As they take him away, Colonel Potter looks over to the Nurses still gathered nearby, “Kellye, get the OR ready, I’ll go scrub up. Baker, take over from Major Houlihan.”

Margaret’s head shoots up at this, “But sir!”

“Negative, Houlihan. You’re too close to the patient,” she opens her mouth to say something but he quickly cuts her off, “and you’ve had a few too many cc’s of alcohol.” Her mouth snaps shut again. “Hunnicutt, take her somewhere and make sure she’s okay. We’ve got this covered.” 

Margaret’s face is stony. BJ gives her his arm and helps her up. He briefly considers taking her to the Officer’s Club but instead leads a silent Margaret back to the Swamp, if only because it’s quieter there, and hell, maybe he’ll even get her to talk.


	8. Chapter 8

BJ gently guides Margaret by the arm back to the Swamp; she holds herself stiffly and does not ask where they’re going.

“Would you like a drink, Margaret? We have gin or water, or I could make you a coffee?”

“A gin would be great, thank you,” she says in her Major voice. Some of her sorrows were still breathing.

BJ mentally kicks himself, remembering how much she’s probably already had to drink. He probably shouldn’t have given her gin as an option. He looks at her, stiff and stony, but smiles softly when he sees that she’s sat herself down on Hawkeye’s bunk,  “Are you okay, Margaret?”

She sits up straight, “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” 

BJ smiles ruefully,  _ That good old Houlihan denial.  _ He tries a different tack as he looks for a clean glass, “You know he’s going to be fine, it was a clean hit, didn’t look like it hit anything important..”

She sits up even straighter than before,“I don’t see how that’s of any of my concern.”

BJ has to fight not to roll his eyes, “Margaret,” he says gently, “you were crying.”

She moves her head quickly a few times, trying to find something interesting that’s nowhere near BJ to stare at, “No I wasn’t.”

He keeps his voice carefully even, “Fine, have it your way, but it’s okay to care about him, y’know.” He wants to tell her how painfully obvious it is that she  _ does  _ care about him, but that wouldn’t help. It certainly won’t get her to talk.

Margaret stands up and looks BJ in the eye, “If that’s all Captain, then I’ll be in my tent.” She makes her exit leaving BJ holding her glass of gin. He wonders if she realises how much she’s just revealed even by refusing to talk.

* * *

  
  


Safely outside the Swamp, Margaret pauses for a moment to rub her hand down her face, she looks around the camp, face falling when she sees the patch of blood where Hawkeye fell.  _ It was his arm, it was his arm. It was only his arm.  _ But what if there’s nerve damage, what if he can no longer perform surgery?  _ He’s gonna be fine, it’s gonna be fine. _ She barely makes it back to her tent before the tears started to fall. Hot, angry tears. 

Angry because she cares about Hawkeye so much, and angry at having gotten involved with Frank Burns in the first place.

How or  _ why  _ is she getting so worked up about this man? Really, though, she knows the answer, she just doesn’t know how it happened. She wants it to stop, but there’s no hope of that now. She’s in way too deep, and inside her is an awful, tangled mess of worry and longing. As an attempt to forget about her feelings and Hawkeye, tonight had been an all-round abject failure _ , _ and, now that he was injured everything her feelings were only magnified.

_ Stupid, selfish bastard, putting himself in front of me so that I would have to live with it if he got hurt. _

Really she was guilty. Grateful and guilty.

What if Frank had killed him? How would she have lived with that?  _ Badly. _

It was bad enough that he’d been standing in front of her when it had happened. All because that  _ idiot _ had no idea how to handle a gun.  _ Frank Burns is lucky he isn’t here, because I would go over there and knock him out, wait ‘til he woke up, and knock him out again. _

What had she ever seen in him?  But really, Frank was just the price to pay for her isolation and loneliness.

She picks up the empty scotch bottle from before,  _ nope, definitely empty,  _  and goes rifling through her footlocker again to look for more. She tosses things across her tent as she goes. There’s gotta be more booze in there somewhere. She really should have taken that martini from BJ before she left. She tosses a few more things aside before her hip flasks comes into view. She picks it up and eagerly unscrews the cap, but it’s empty. She flings the flask across the tent as well where it lands with a clatter. She sits down on her bed, her head in her hands. It’s probably for the best anyway, what if more wounded came in? But that thought doesn’t make her feel any better.

She’s still slumped on her cot a while later when there’s a knock on her door. She ignores it.

Radar’s voice calls out cautiously, “Uh, mam?”

“What!” she yells at her door.

“Uh Colonel Potter wants me to tell you that the surgery went well and that he’ll make a full recovery. The bullet nicked an artery and not a lot else, but they sown him up real good.”

Margaret leans against the wall of her tent and silently lets the tears leak down the sides of her face. She takes a deep breath, “Thank you, Corporal,” she says as businesslike as she can muster, before allowing her face to crumple, her many pent-up emotions seeking release.

When the tears finally subside she looks around for her jug of water and pours herself a glass. Drinking is thirsty work, and though the effects are starting to wear off, she’s still got more than enough alcohol in her system. Tiredness is starting to weigh heavily upon her, but her mind won’t rest.

She wants to see Hawkeye, or maybe she needs to. She needs to reassure herself that he really is okay, and maybe then she can get some sleep. She will allow herself this indulgence.

She puts on her field jacket and slips quietly into the cool night. It must be into the early hours of the morning by now.

She doesn’t take in the stillness of the night, nor the bright, clear, starry sky. Her only focus is going to see Hawkeye, and doing so without attracting attention.

When she quietly enters post-op BJ is on  on duty, sitting at the other end writing up some charts and the nurse on duty is nowhere to be seen.

BJ looks up as she enters, but just smiles and goes back to what he’s doing. She looks up the rows of beds, scanning for his familiar profile. Her heart lurches as she finds him in the second bed on the left.  _ You could just leave now and he’d never know you were here.  _ But she can’t,  _ What the heart wants…  _ When she reaches him she perches herself awkwardly on the chair next to his bed, barely sparing a brief glance for the sleeping soldier in the bed next to him. He’s resting peacefully, his arm bandaged, his face relaxed  _ He’s fine, he’s going to be fine.  _ She continues to sit awkwardly, unsure whether to stay or go. When he starts to stir she freezes. She should go, she should definitely go.

“Margaret?” he croaks softly.

_ Shit. _

He reaches out and wraps his fingers around her arm as if reading her thoughts.

“Don’t go.”

She looks over at where BJ is sitting, he’s studiously pretending he has no idea what’s going on, and god knows where Baker is. She looks back down at his bleary eyes, feeling like a coiled spring.

“C’mere”

_ There’s no way...I absolutely will not…,  _ but she’s tired, still slightly drunk, and it’s just so inviting. Slowly she obeys his gentle tugging on her arm and sits gingerly next to him, but he keeps tugging until she’s lying down next to him. She holds herself tense “I shouldn’t be here,”

“Yes you should,” he sleepily buries his face in her hair and snakes his good arm around her waist to keep her from falling off the narrow cot..

This has to be one of the stupidest things she’s done, people will talk. She makes no effort to get up despite knowing that she absolutely should, and allows her weariness to overcome her, her body melting into the warm, comfortable space next to his. She’s done enough fighting.


	9. Chapter 9

BJ looks up from the charts he’s just finished and looks around. Where did Margaret go? He didn’t hear her leave, and last time he’d looked Hawkeye had been holding her hand. She can’t have gone far. He cranes his head and looks over at Hawkeye,  _ hang on a minute, is that really…?  _ He gets up and goes over to look and has to stifle a shriek of triumph when he sees Margaret asleep on Hawkeye’s cot with him. They’re both blissfully, peacefully dead to the world, tucked closely into one another.

“Everything okay?” Baker asks, having just come in from her break.

“Ohhhh yeah, everything’s fine.”

Baker gasps quietly, “Is that the  _ Major? _ ”

“Uhuh”

“Well that’s certainly something I never expected to see.”

“Do you know anyone with a camera?

“Nurse Abel has one, want me to go get it?”

“Do you think she’d mind?”

“What, for this? She’d probably pay you to do it.”

While she’s gone, BJ decides to wheel some screens over to shield the sleeping pair. It won’t stop the whole camp talking about them, but it might at least make Margaret feel a little less uncomfortable upon waking.

BJ’s just finished sliding them into place when a weary Colonel Potter enters Post-Op,

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine, possibly more than fine, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Take a look”

The Colonel chuckles quietly, “Well I’ll be. Look at them all snuggled up together. I hope this means they finally realised what’s right in front of them.”

“We can only hope”

“They’ll be good for each other, don’t you think?”

“They do seem to really like each other. Just gotta hope they remember that when they’re yelling at each other.”

“There is that,” a sly look crosses the Colonel’s face, “Though maybe they’ll work out their tensions in another way, if you catch my drift.”

BJ grins widely, “Knowing them, they most probably will”

The Colonel chuckles again, “Well, I’m off to hit the sack,” he claps his hand on BJ’s shoulder, “ Let me know if anything changes.”

BJ nods and goes off to find a blanket for Margaret.

* * *

Hawkeye awakens, wincing at the intense burning in his arm, but he smiles at the warm weight on the other and indulgently buries his nose in her hair. God knows when he’ll get the chance to do this again. It’s anyone’s guess how she’ll react to waking here so exposed and out in the open, but probably badly. He’s glad to see that someone’s at least tried to give them some privacy, it might delay Margaret’s inevitable freaking out by a whole minute. Their sleeping arrangement will probably be all over the camp by lunch time. Hell, even Rizzo probably already knows. He supposes he should probably wake her before shift changes and Charles came on duty, at least give her an illusion of control. He wants to wake her gently. Option one is by brushing her hair from her forehead but he’s out of hands. Mentally shrugging he cranes to kiss it instead, “Morning, sunshine,” he murmurs next to her ear. He savours watching her wake, her sleep slackened face creases into a frown right before she opens her sleep heavy eyes. They’re instantly sharp, darting around, looking for a way out as she realises where she is. He feels her relax slightly as she notices the screens, but tense slightly when she looks back in his direction, and she’s only looking at his chest. He chances moving his hand slightly at her waist. She flinches and moves to sit up.

“It’s okay, Margaret,” he tightens his grip on her waist in an attempt to delay her inevitable fleeing.

She doesn’t look like she believes him, “I’ve got to go,” she starts trying to free herself, obviously having concluded that she’d all but shattered one of her tightly held personal regulations.

_ “Margaret,”  _ she pauses in semi horror as he ignores the pain from his wound and lifts his damaged arm to touch her face, 

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” she admonishes quietly.

He ignores her, it’s the pain alone is it to have held her attention for a few extra moments,“We’ll talk when I get out of here, okay?”

She shows no reaction other than giving a tiny nod, her face carefully schooled so that casual observers would see no emotion. Hawkeye can see the signs of a struggle in her eyes in the second they make contact with his own. He lets go of her and she stands, straightening her appearance before checking to see if the coast is clear, and she slips away without a word.

 

Moments later BJ pokes his head around the screen, “How are we this morning, didja sleep well?”

“Ah, you're referring to my lovely sleeping companion.”

“You got me,” BJ gives a cheshire cat grin, “So is she a one off, this sleeping companion, or…?”

Hawkeye takes a moment to respond, suddenly pensive, “Your guess is as good as mine. I told her we'd talk when I got outta here, she didn't disagree,” he smiles ruefully, “Though whether she was agreeing to me getting out of here or when the war ends is another thing. So, Dr Beej, when can I get out of here?”

“Well, if you promise to come and get something for the pain when you need it, as soon as you like. I’ll go and grab some clean clothes for you as soon as Charles gets here.”

“No need,” Hawkeye sits up and peels back his blanket.

“Hawk…”

“I don’t care if the whole camp sees my tushie.”

“Hawk.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go straight back to the Swamp and get dressed.”

BJ sighs. Margaret’s obviously the reason he wants to get out of Post-op so badly, and she’s always easier to approach when she’s had more space than the, BJ looks up at the clock, five minutes that she’s just had,  _ “Hawk!” _

“Mmmm?”

“She needs more than five minutes”

Hawkeye pauses and looks at BJ, “I know.” But he was having a hard time restraining himself. Part of him even wanted to skip getting dressed and go right over there, but lord knows that’s no way to impress Margaret at the best of times. There was no way, no way at all that he was waiting around here for his clothes, though, he wasn’t staying here as a patient any longer than he had to. He stood up, making sure his hospital gown was as tied together as it could be.

“Remember, Hawk,” BJ presses again, “Go shave, clean yourself up a bit, reasonably clean clothes.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“Hey doc,” the patient across from him calls out as Hawkeye leaves the screens that had been surrounding him, “that was some nurse you had with you last night. That was that stern one, wasn’t it!”

Hawkeye waves him off and keeps walking. Swamp, reasonably clean clothes, shave, Margaret.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry this has taken a little while, I had some other things I wanted to do and the ideas wouldn’t flow. Thank you as always for all of your lovely comments/kudos, they’re greatly appreciated! I can’t tell you how nice it is to know that there are people enjoying my writing. This is the final chapter, but there will be an epilogue to follow.

Margaret’s pacing up and down her small tent. She knows Hawkeye won’t let them keep him in Post-op for long, and she’s expecting him to show up on her doorstep at any moment. 

_ How could you be so weak, Houlihan? Allowing yourself to sleep on him, and in a public place, no less. You’re like some lovestruck schoolgirl.  _ But chastising herself isn’t helping. It never does. She gives up and flumps onto the chair at her dressing table. She looks like hell.  _ Great, now you can look at your face while you tell yourself off.  _

She takes out yesterday’s clips and starts untangling her hair before then starting on yesterday’s now smudged makeup. She catches her own eye and glares at her reflection before scowling. It’s not even remotely satisfying.

Margaret freezes as there's a knock on her door. She calls out, closing her eyes and willing her voice into neutrality, “Who is it?” 

Hawkeye’s voice calls back through the door “Just me, Major.” Of course it is. She closes her eyes. He must be serious if he’s not even joking around. Part of her had been hoping he’d give her a reason to yell for him to go away.

“Just a minute!” she says, hurriedly wiping off what still remains of her makeup.

“Or, y’know, I could just start talking out here,” Hawkeye continues, obviously impatient.

Margaret rolls her eyes ceilingward and goes to open the door, and he quickly steps in without as word, almost as though he’s worried she might change her mind. She might have just, but she she’s not silly enough to believe he wouldn’t just keep coming back.

And now there he is, right in front of her, large as life. Margaret struggles to look at him, battling with the part of herself that wants to snap shut, the part that’s supposed to keep intruders away,  _ It’s a bit late for you to start working now _ . She snaps her head up to meet his eyes and finds his gaze upon her, his eyes serious. He gently takes both of her hands in his, ignoring the fairly constant pain in his arm. She inhales sharply at the contact.

“Margaret, whatever we were, whatever we are, we seem to have fallen into something here, and I’m not sure there’s any getting away from it,” he swallows, looking down at their linked hands, “I’m not even sure I’d want to.”

Margaret wants to believe, but her insecurities bubble out of her, “But what about Carlye? It was barely weeks ago that you said you were feeling these sorts of things for her, and now you’re talking about me!”

He looks at her, his gaze level, “I thought I did, I thought I was, but was just a memory. I was in love with an idea, the idea of a memory, and bringing all that up again made me realise some things, things I thought about you, feelings I had, feelings I had no idea I even had. I think that maybe, even though we haven’t always understood each other, there are things we do understand about each other that no one else ever has.”

“So, where does that leave us?”

“Well if being an “us” isn’t something you want then I’ll just go ahead and leave without a word and we’ll never speak of it again, though we’ll probably throw it in each other’s faces as we argue sometime, but I don’t think either of us will be very happy.”

It’s her turn to say something, but the words are stuck in her throat. She’s desperately trying to quash the voices in her head saying it will never work, that she’s just another fling, that he’ll break her heart, because she doesn’t believe them. In a desperate bid to communicate with him she yanks his good arm, forcing him to stumble closer, and kisses him desperately. Caught off guard he takes a second to respond, but when he does it’s like they’ve been doing this forever. They’re all tongues and teeth and lips, three of their four hands begin to roam. They break apart for air and Hawkeye uses his good arm to hold her close, resting his 

forehead against hers, “We should have done this earlier,” he says, his hot breath on her skin making her shiver.

They couldn’t have, she wasn’t ready, she doubts even he was, but she knows what he means. Already there’s a level of understanding that moves between them without words. If she had not experienced it for herself, Margaret would not believe such a thing was even possible. She runs her hand along his freshly shaven jaw, and for the first time notices that some effort has gone into his appearance. His fatigues don’t even smell like anything other than his, in her opinion, intoxicating personal smell. She smiles, “You’ve shaved,” her fingers move to his lapels, “and is this a clean uniform?”

He laughs, “A reasonably clean uniform.”

She laughs at him before planting another quick kiss on his lips. He’s tense all of a sudden, and when she looks up at his face questioningly he said, “It’s only my arm.”

“Come on then, time to go and get some pain meds.”

“But I don’t wanna be foggy.”

“I would have thought you of all people would jump at the chance to have the war pass a little faster.”

“Yeah but not like that,” he leers at her, “Especially not now that I have a newer, more beautiful way to pass the time.”

She tries to glare at him, but instead just looks seductive, but he’s still wincing. “Come on, let’s go grab lunch and then get you your medication.”

“Only if you promise to be my personal nurse.”

“It’s a deal”

His face is incredulous. Circumstances might be different now, but hearing her actually agree to his proposition, floors him, _ “Really?” _

“Of course,” she gives him a lopsided smile, “you’re mine now.”

“Maybe I should get sick more often.”

“Watch it, buster.”

“Or you’ll what?”

She smirks suggestively, “You’ll find out later.”

He smirks back at her before looping his arm around her waist and pulling her to his side, “Care to accompany me to lunch, Major?”

She doesn’t point out that she doesn’t have much choice because he’s currently holding onto her, because she wants to, oh she wants to. She’s not relishing the idea of everyone seeing them together like this, of everyone knowing her affairs, but given the events of the last 24 hours, seeing them together is probably exactly what’s expected.

  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This is it! Thank you to everyone who’s read this, enjoyed it, and especially reviewed/left kudos/ liked or reblogged it <3 Special thanks to lostineden and viktoire for helping with morale and ideas bouncing when I got stuck x.

The weeks roll by, and before long it’s been an entire month. Slowly but surely his arm is healing, hurting less, itching a hell of a lot more. He’s lucky, he knows; his entire career career as a surgeon could have been over. If he’d been shipped home, he wouldn’t have even had his favourite nurse at his side.

Things have been going surprisingly well for them. Sure, there have been a couple of minor disagreements, but nothing to the magnitude either of them have feared. He knows some people have lost money betting on them. What these people have not taken into account, though, is their new found ability to work through tension in different ways, more  _ fun  _ ways. Many an hour had been spent together trying things new and old, fast and slow.  _ On the desk and on the bed.  _ He smirks at the memory. They’d stopped short at trying it on the floor. 

He’s in the Swamp shaving. The camp is throwing a party tonight in honour of him being healed enough for him to be back in action and he’s supposed to be caring about how he looks. He doesn’t, but it’ll make Margaret happy, and that’s reason enough.

He hasn’t spent a lot of time here lately. Most nights had been spent in Margaret's tent, except for that one after she said he’d made fun of her in front of some of the nurses and he’d disagreed with her definition of “made fun of”. 

It was just as well, their new surgeon was a total bore. Major Charles Emerson Winchester the third had had a pole lodged firmly between his gluteus maximus when he arrived and it was apparently still there. 

He’s far more competent than Frank had ever been, though that’s not exactly difficult, but would it be too much to ask for him to stop blowing his own trumpet at every opportunity? That also included the trumpets he often had blaring from his gramophone. BJ wasn’t enjoying their new bunkmate either, and was not always that pleased that Hawkeye had found somewhere else to be that didn’t involve him.

The door to the tent opens and Margaret sticks her lovely, blonde head in. Hawkeye takes a moment to appreciate the way her hair is falling in waves, and glowing in the late afternoon light. He still feels like he needs to pinch himself because he has no right to feel this happy or this fortunate in a warzone.

“Are you ready? They're all over there waiting for you.” 

“Coming,” he says as he dries his face and removes the towel he had around his neck.

He finds parties hold less appeal than they used to. Alcohol’s now his second favourite drug, the first being Margaret, and what are parties for if not for drinking and picking up girls?

He meets her at the door and loops his arm around her waist, pulling her close and kissing her on the nose. She smiles and wrinkles it as he does. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this, their togetherness or the relief that their physical closeness brings, nor access to warm and soft side of her personality.

He’s been tempted many times in the last month to rush out and buy her a ring and offer her forever, and he’s got no doubt that he eventually will. He’s had to remind himself to slow down, to not rush what they’ve got going on here.

They make their way over to the mess tent, both with an arm still around the other. No one bats an eyelid anymore; as strange as it might have seemed a month ago, now they’re almost always touching.

There’s applause as they enter the mess, and much like the night he was crowned chief surgeon, there are toilet paper streamers everywhere. They head up to the front of the crowd where Colonel Potter is waiting for them. The only person not applauding or looking in any way pleased is Charles.

Potter gets up to speak, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve just received some news which should make this celebration just that little bit sweeter. After taking into consideration the recent incident her at the 4077th, Major Frank Burns has been discharged with a Section 8.”

There had been applause when Hawkeye entered, but the tent positively exploded now. Streamers flew, people hugged and cheered, and Margaret shrieked in surprise as Hawkeye picked her up and spun her around without warning.

Potter cleared his throat, wanting to keep speaking. Reluctantly a hush fell,

“Now as you know, we are here this evening to celebrate the fact that our Chief Surgeon is now well enough to be back in action after having been shot by Major Burns.”

“Even though he’s already been getting quite a bit of action!” Yells BJ from his place in the crowd. There are titters and Margaret turns bright red.

Potter continues, “Now, where were we, ah yes Captain Hunnicutt would like to say a few words. Well, a few more words,” he says, turning an amused gaze towards BJ as he made his way to the front, grinning and bowing.

“Now as we know, ladies and gentlemen, Hawk getting shot has not been the only development around here lately. Our Chief Surgeon and Head Nurse have also joined forces, among other things,” he says to muffled laughter, and Charles loudly mumbling something about being unprofessional, “and I have a little present here for them to mark this momentous occasion.” He brandishes a small photo from his front pocket and holds it up, “Which is a picture of the happy couple fast asleep in post op together.”

Hawkeye accepts the gift gleefully, brimming with pride.Margaret’s mortified,still unused to having her private affairs out in the open like this and moves closer into Hawkeye’s side. He gives her a reassuring squeeze, but gets a slap on the arm and a half hearted dirty look when he moves his hand down and squeezes her backside as well.

“Thank you, thank you,” Hawkeye says, grandiosely, addressing the crowd, “First of all I’d like to thank my parents, because they made me, my friend Beej, because he’s been doing it kinda tough lately having to live without me, and last but not least, my favourite Major, my best nurse, Major Margaret Houlihan. His first instinct is to dip her with no warning and kiss her soundly, but instead he turns to look at her, basking in her soft smile and gently, tenderly presses his lips to hers. She’s pleased, he can feel it radiating off her through her embarrassment at the very public display of affection. They’re good for each other, he thinks. She still commands a tight ship, but her edges are softer now, and he’s no longer searching or lamenting a love lost. They move through the revelers, talking, laughing, always close, and when enough alcohol has flowed that they won’t be missed, together they slip quietly into the night.


End file.
